


Barduil Drabbles

by sailingonstardust



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: And if anyone has a request feel free to hit me up either here or on Tumblr!, Barduil - Freeform, I will update here whenever I post a new one on Tumblr, Link is in my profile, M/M, Most of them should be G though, Oh also I'll post the individual rating of each drabble as I post it, barduil drabble, barduil drabbles, this is a collection of all of my barduil drabbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-03-26 07:22:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 10,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3842101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailingonstardust/pseuds/sailingonstardust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an accumulation of all of my Barduil drabbles that I post on Tumblr! I will update here whenever I post a new one over there :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Comic Con

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they meet at Comic Con. Rated G

Bard shuffled through the crowds of costumed people, the sound of everyone talking and laughing and generally having a good time lighting a smile on the costumed man’s face, but also giving him a bit of a headache. He really wished he had remembered to bring some Advil. The man had only found one other person dressed as a character from the universe of The Princess Bride that day; he was an older gentleman who was dressed as Vizzini, complete with a picket sign that read ‘NEVER GET INVOLVED IN A LAND WAR IN ASIA’. While the pair had gotten some fun pictures and enjoyed a completely geeky conversation, Bard had been hoping to find a Buttercup amidst all the characters wandering about. Thus far, he had had no such luck.

 

Quite frankly Bard was tired and beginning to think that he would go back to his hotel room soon seeing as there were no panels he planned on seeing that day, but when Bard turned and caught sight of long, bright blond hair and a red flowing dress, his curiosity was piqued. _Could it be?..._ Bard pushed his way through the crowds until he reached the cosplayer who seemed to be standing alone. As Bard neared the person, he realized that it was a man, and quite a handsome man at that. His wig was incredibly realistic and utterly gorgeous, though it was a couple shades lighter than Buttercup’s in the movie. The man’s dress was more like a robe, and it was actually very flattering on him.

 

Though Bard was not generally a very shy person, he found himself unable to approach the man before him. He hesitated a couple yards away, willing himself forward but not moving an inch. People jostled around him as he stared on, wondering what he would say to the man. Bard did not have long to ponder this, however, as suddenly the man caught his masked eye and a heart-stopping smirk lighted on his pale face. Before Bard could register what was happening, the blond was standing in front of him, the smirk still in place.

 

“My dear Westley,” he purred in a voice that sent a ripple of desire shooting down Bard’s spine, “I’ve been searching for you all day. Won’t you accompany me to the food court?”

 

Bard felt himself grinning and managed to reply with “As you wish.”

 

****

Thranduil, Bard found, was everything the man never knew he needed. The blond was extremely graceful and appeared to be nearly ethereal. Even the way he ate french fries was attractive, which confused Bard. Honestly he had never been inclined towards other men in this way before, yet here he was utterly enthralled by the stranger before him. Somehow he knew that Thranduil was something entirely different than anyone else he had met before.

 

“Wait,” Bard interrupted the man’s story of the creation of his costume, swallowing his bite of chicken before continuing, “that’s not a wig?” The long hair cascaded down the man’s back in a silky sheet and Bard thought that he must be lying; it was simply too beautiful for him not to be.

 

“Nope.” Thranduil said with a laugh. “I find that most people at cons tend to think I’m lying when they find out.”

 

“I can’t imagine why.” Bard sassed playfully, and Thranduil rolled his eyes with a smile. “How many cons have you been to?” The masked man questioned, not wanting the conversation to end anytime soon.

 

“This is my third.” Thranduil told. “My first con I didn’t dress up, but last year I was Malcolm Reynolds, which I’m actually wearing again tomorrow.” Bard’s eyebrows shot up at that and Thranduil looked at him questioningly. “What?”

 

“You’re kidding.” Bard deadpanned.

 

“Um, no.” Thranduil replied. “Why?”

 

“Because I’m dressing as Jayne tomorrow.”

 

Thranduil looked at him with a look of pure happiness and exclaimed “No way! Where are you staying? We should definitely hang together tomorrow…”

 

Much to Bard and Thranduil’s pleasure, that con was the first of many that they would enjoy together, and the story of their coincidental cosplays was one which they would never forget.


	2. Shut Up and Dance With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the song by Walk the Moon. Rated G

Bard stood at the edge of the throbbing crowd, a bottle of water in his shaking hand. He had never been one for parties, nor had he ever been one for alcohol. The young man felt incredibly out of place as he stood motionless while the throngs of people surged around him to the beat of a rather vulgar song. Honestly, Bard didn’t know why he had come to the party in the first place. He supposed it had something to do with the fact that his friend Bilbo had practically begged him and simply would not relent, but still.

 

Just as the brunet was about to slip out unnoticed as a Black Eyed Peas song blared, the crowd began to chant something that Bard couldn’t quite make out. It sounded like someone’s name, and just as he thought it he caught sight of a tall blond man whose legs appeared to go on and on. Truly he was strikingly beautiful, and Bard berated himself for his inability to tear away his gaze. As he looked on, the blond made eye contact with him, though that was absurd. Bard told himself that it must have only seemed that way; how on Earth would the man have even noticed him seeing as he had been huddling in the corner of the room throughout the entire party like a loser.

 

Finally the blond broke eye contact and Bard let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The man then held up his hands so as to get the crowd to stop chanting, and he gestured to the DJ at the front of the room. The petite girl, who Bard recognized from his algebra class as Eowyn, gave the man a thumbs-up and suddenly the first notes of a dubstep song rang out. The crowd began to clap in time and let out whoops and hollers. The blond seemed to pay them little mind, and he began to move his arms and legs in ways that mesmerized Bard. The brunet thought that it must hurt to do that, though it didn’t appear that the man was in pain. In fact, he seemed to be rather enjoying it.

 

Bard did not know how long the dance went on, though he knew that it was certainly over all too soon. To be perfectly honest, he would have been content to watch the man all night. The crowd’s chants of “MORE! MORE! MORE!” brought Bard back to reality, however, and once again he turned towards the door to make his exit.

 

Before he could get very far, he felt a strong hand on his shoulder that halted him in his tracks. The young man turned with a scowl only to have it morph into a look of surprise as he realized that the hand belonged to the talented blond he had been so enamored with only seconds ago. The taller man’s teasing smirk made Bard’s heart flutter childishly, and when he spoke the brunet wondered how he didn’t melt right into the floor.

 

“What’s your name?” The man questioned in a voice that Bard would love nothing more than to listen to all day.

 

“Uh, Bard.” He stuttered stupidly, and it might have been his imagination but he thought he saw the blond’s face soften at that.

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Bard. I’m Thranduil. Won’t you dance with me?”

 

Bard thought that he must have heard wrong, but Thranduil’s gaze did not waver as he waited expectantly for an answer to his unsuspected question. “I really can’t dance.” The young man protested. He certainly did not want to make a fool of himself in front of all of these people, and especially not in front of Thranduil.

 

The blond, however, did not seem to think that was a suitable excuse, and he retorted “Don’t worry; I’ll walk you through it.” Before Bard could protest again, Thranduil grabbed his clammy hand in his own and led him to the front of the room where the blond had been dancing only a minute ago.

 

“Something a little slower, Eowyn.” Thranduil requested, and the girl nodded her head in response. The questioning murmurs of the crowd were drowned out by the first notes of ‘I Don’t Wanna Miss A Thing’ by Aerosmith. The pair was quickly joined on the dance floor by others wanting to dance to the iconic song, and Bard found himself pressed up close against the handsome stranger who now had his hands around his waist. Bard couldn’t help himself from glancing back at the door, which he of course instantly regretted. He really did want to dance with Thranduil, he simply felt uncomfortable.

 

“Don’t look back.” He heard Thranduil murmur just loud enough for him to hear.

 

“You’re holding back.” Bard replied, thinking that it was a stupid thing to say. Of course he was holding back; if he wasn’t Bard would be left in the dust.

 

“Shut up and dance with me.” Thranduil’s answer took the brunet by surprise, and it brought a smile to his face despite its bluntness. Neither of them said anything more; they didn’t need to. The light brushes of their hands on each other’s waist, the way their eyes met and sparks seemed to fly between them, and the way they fit together like two long lost pieces of a puzzle all said far more than any words could.

 

By the time the night was over they had danced to four songs, yet Bard still wanted more. Now, ten years later and with four kids, the husbands stand out under the stars in their backyard and take each other in their arms, swaying to the beat of their entwined hearts as stardust runs through their veins. In that moment they are infinite with only the stars as their witnesses, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.


	3. Zombie Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: This one is pretty gory (I mean it's a zombie apocalypse au) and there is death, one of which is a suicide. If any of this bothers you to read about, I suggest you skip this one. Rated T

Blurred shapes and the silhouettes of the five people Bard and Thranduil had banded with when they had had to flee their city were all that the brunet saw as they sprinted through the darkness of night. He vaguely registered the tight pain in his chest from running so hard for so long. His breath came in quick, gasping heaves, and his old yet reliable gun felt heavy in his sweaty hands.

 

He and his husband had been through far too much in far too short a time period. When a disease that turned people into zombie-like creatures hit the world, it was no time at all before half of the population died, and another quarter turned into flesh eating monsters that bore an uncanny resemblance to the Orcs from The Lord of the Rings. Bard thought that it was a morbid thought, but he was grateful that their children died instead of being turned into one of those things or having to run from them. Had they still been alive, Bard and Thranduil would have surely been caught by now; there was no way the kids could have kept up with this pace. Bard was hardly keeping up himself.

 

Behind him, Bard heard a curse and a _thud._ He twisted his neck as he ran, not daring to stop altogether, until he saw that the man lying on the ground had a mess of blond hair that could belong to no one save Thranduil.

 

“Thran!” He screamed and stopped in his tracks, raising his gun to shoot at the zombie on top of him. As the _bang!_ of his gun erupted into the humid night air, Thranduil let out a bone chilling scream. For a moment Bard thought he had shot him, but no; the zombie lay in a bloody pile, an oozing red hole in the center of his head. For a moment Bard wondered what the person’s name had been, before it was turned into that thing, but he shoved the thought out of his mind. Dwelling on the fact that he had technically just killed a person would not lead to good things; that he had learned from personal experience.

 

No rational thought existed in that moment as Bard ran to his husband and fell on the dirt packed ground with his knees, dropping his gun at his side. “Thran!” He sobbed, his voice sounding foreign and animalistic. “Thran, come on. Come on, stand up.” Yet his pleas fell on deaf ears.

 

The blond lay convulsing on the ground, his hands clamped tight around his left thigh. Vaguely Bard registered the presence of their band of allies. “Bard,” he heard a woman about his age by the name of Dís console, “he’s been bitten.”

 

A strangled cry clawed its way out of the man’s throat and he felt desperation squeezing him like a vice. He had hardly survived the deaths of their children; he would certainly not live through the death of his husband as well.

 

Thranduil still convulsed in the dirt, his veins slowly but surely turning a gruesome shade of purple and red. Bright red blood dribbled from his lips and Bard could see it caked in between the cracks in his once perfectly white teeth. Thranduil had, in fact, been a dentist only six months ago.

 

Through his desperate, choking sobs, Bard thought he heard his husband murmuring something. “B-Buhd.” The man sputtered, and Bard grasped Thranduil’s cold hand in his own clammy one. He knew he could not manage to say anything through his tears, so he squeezed the blond’s fingers tight and hoped he would continue. “You need t-“ He began, but was cut off with a wracking cough, sending blood spraying onto Bard’s face. It hardly registered, though. He could only focus on the dying light in Thranduil’s crystal blue eyes. “Shoot.” The man finally finished, and Bard found himself shaking his head. “Kill me. Please.” Thranduil begged through his swollen purple lips, a steady stream of blood still flowing from them. The desperation in his voice sent Bard dry heaving into the mud beside him.

 

“No.” Bard refused once he could sit upright, shaking his head in denial even though the rational part of him knew he would be killed by his husband if he did not. “No, no, no.” It was the only thing he could manage to say, and he repeated it like a mantra.

 

Below him, Thranduil began to jerk violently and one look through his tear blurred eyes and Bard could tell he was close to dying, to being consumed by the horrible disease that had now taken everything from him. “Bard.” Thranduil ordered with the last of his sanity. “ _Shoot_.”

 

Before he could register what he was doing, Bard reached down beside him and picked up his gun, the weight of what he was about to do making his shoulders hunch. If only he could curl up on himself and make it all go away; to go back to the months before when they were a happy family of six and their only worries were how they were going to get Tilda to ballet, Legolas to archery, and Bain to tutoring on time.

 

The memory of that life sent a growl of anger tearing through him and he watched Thranduil’s dirty, bloodstained face as his finger hovered shakily over the trigger. _Do it_ the blond mouthed, and Bard lifted his eyes to the expanse of starlit sky above him, the very same sky he and Thranduil had gotten married under, and shot.

 

The sound of bullet hitting skull was sickening, and before he could dry heave again Bard pressed the cold circle of the weapon to his own temple. The last thing he ever saw was a shooting star before he took one final breath and pulled the trigger.

 


	4. Please Don't Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst up ahead! Rated G

It was an accident. A stupid, horrible accident.

 

A large group of orcs had passed through Mirkwood. At the time, Bard had not known why, nor had he cared. Afterwards, however, the truth ruined him. His only consolation was that they were all dead now, every last one of them.

 

That included, regretfully, his husband.

 

He had insisted upon going with Thranduil to defend the forest, despite the blond’s protests. Bard wasn’t about to let his husband do this alone, even if he knew he could handle something as trivial as a group of wandering orcs. They rode side by side through the wood, an entourage of Elves and Men trailing behind them. When they finally came upon the orcs, Bard could feel his heart pumping faster and faster in anticipation of the fighting ahead. The two husbands did not give one last kiss as they usually would, so certain were they of their imminent success. They had been proud and reckless, not paying attention to the signs right before their very eyes. Bard would regret that behavior for the rest of his life.

 

The fighting had gone on as expected, though Bard could tell Thranduil was slashing his sword in a sloppier manner than usual. He didn’t pay it much mind, too focused on killing the hideous beings before him.

 

As he cut off the head of the final orc in his vicinity, Bard heard frantic shouts calling his name. Dread fell like a boulder in the pit of his stomach and he spun around to see his love, his beautiful, wonderful husband, shaking violently in the damp grass.

 

Bard ran to the Elf and fell down hard on his knees, though he did not register the pain. No pain could compare to what he felt in that moment anyway. “My love, what happened? What’s wrong?” He questioned frantically, feeling his husband over for wounds. It was the last time he would ever run his hands over Thranduil’s body, and it was not enough, could never be enough. There was so much still to do, but evidently they were not to be granted the time.

 

“Sweetie, Bard, please don’t cry.” Thranduil sputtered, still convulsing.

 

The king of Dale hadn’t registered the hot tears rolling down his face until Thranduil mentioned it, but he made no move to swipe them away. He did not want to move his hands from his love even for a moment.

 

“Why aren’t you healing him?” Bard barked at the Elves standing helplessly around their king.

 

One, Haldir, spoke up, saying in a despondent voice “It was a poisoned blade. A poison we have no antidote for.”

 

Frustration welled up like an animal clawing its way out of his throat and Bard growled “Then this was an assassination attempt?” He heard Thranduil struggle to breath below him and Bard hugged the Elf tight against his chest as he often did when nightmares plagued the king in the dead of night.

 

“I love you, meleth nin.” Thranduil breathed, and Bard could hardly reply through his sobs.

 

“I love you too, my king.” He managed. Thranduil’s body jerked violently in Bard’s arms as the life left him. It was a feeling the man would never forget for as long as he lived.

 

He didn’t remember much after that. He vaguely registered screaming that could have been his, and he thought he remembered Elves picking him up and carrying his kicking form back to Thranduil’s elk, which they strapped him to. Haldir had a bruised eye when Bard came to the next morning and said that the bowman had punched him in his fury. Bard knew it was rude, but he couldn’t bring himself to apologize. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything, actually.

 

The light of his life was gone, and he would never recover from the pain of the loss, not this time. Not ever again.


	5. Bard, You're Exhausted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated G

The new king of Dale had not slept in three days. How could he when there was so much to do, so many people to take care of, so much destruction to repair? Everything he knew had been stripped from him except for his family. For that, at least, he thanked every god out there. If his children had been lost to him he would surely not be alive right now; not that he felt very alive anyway. Seventy two hours without sleep was making him stumble wearily around, and already more people than he could count on his fingers had questioned whether he was alright. Bard always waved them off, saying he was fine. His children nagged at him to go to bed, even if only for a few hours, but he did not _have_ a few hours. The bowman told himself that he would sleep once he was sure everyone left alive was as comfortable as possible. Until then he would simply have to trudge along and be the leader he knew the people of Laketown needed in this trying time.

 

Whether it was because of Bard’s exhausted state, Thranduil’s stealth as an Elf, or a combination of the two, the bowman did not register the Elvenking’s presence behind him until the blond was basically breathing down his neck. Suddenly Bard spun around and Thranduil peered down at him with that piercing gaze that always managed to make the man feel like a fire had been started in his veins.

 

“Come with me.” Thranduil commanded in his low voice and Bard dared to shake his head.

 

“I’ve just got a few more tents to visit and then I can go with you.” The man protested, but the Elf held his ground.

 

“Bard, you’re exhausted. Come here.”

 

It was as if a spell had been placed on him; Bard let his eyes flutter closed and he swayed on his feet. He felt strong arms grasping him and vaguely registered someone – Thranduil – carrying him. He fell asleep to the bobbing movement of Thranduil’s steps as they made their way to wherever it was the Elf would take him. The last image Bard saw before drifting into unconsciousness was of the Elvenking’s pearlescent skin that appeared to glow like a million bright stars, and his last thought was of what it would feel like to kiss the starlight that danced atop the Elf’s skin.


	6. Father's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated G

To be perfectly honest, Bard had forgotten all about Father’s Day. He and Thranduil’s children, however, had not.

 

The brunette awoke to sunlight streaming through their window, Thranduil still wrapped around him from the intimate night they had shared before. He smiled and craned his neck to press a string of fluttering kisses to Thranduil’s forehead, trailing down until he was sucking at the side of his neck. The blond stirred beside him and Bard shifted to wrap his arms around the man.

 

“Good morning, love.” He murmured, and Thranduil hummed in response.

 

“It is when I wake up to this.” The man smiled lazily. Bard took it as an invitation to climb atop his husband, all the while licking and biting and sucking at the pale skin that was marked from the night before.

 

Thranduil’s moans sounded to Bard like the most beautiful song, and he wanted it to never end. All too soon, however, a knock sounded at the door and the pair pulled apart breathlessly. Bard slid off of his husband and Thranduil called out “Come in!”

 

The two men were greeted to the sight of their children carrying a tray of food with two plates atop it. “What’s this?” Bard asked. Their kids usually didn’t get out of bed on a Saturday until at least ten o’clock, and even then they weren’t able to hold an intelligent conversation until eleven. Yet this morning the clock read 9:38 and they were dressed with breakfast ready and steaming; they even had two mugs of coffee.

 

“Happy Father’s Day!” The kids all exclaimed simultaneously, and realization dawned on both Bard and Thranduil at once.

 

“Thank you, darlings!” Thranduil grinned and held his arms out to hug them once they had set the tray and mugs on the dresser by the king size bed.

 

“Yes, thank you!” Bard repeated. With beaming smiles Legolas carried the tray of food ever so carefully and laid it on Thranduil’s lap where both men could reach it, Sigrid handed them their steaming cups of coffee, Bain offered to pour their creamer and sugar, and Tilda dutifully passed them each a napkin and silverware. When all was in place the children left them to themselves once again, and Bard found himself grinning madly at an equally amused Thranduil.

 

“I didn’t even know it was Father’s Day.” Thranduil admitted, and Bard laughed.

 

“Me either. Let’s see if they managed not to murder this meal, shall we?” With that each man turned their attention to the tray of food before them. On each plate was a piece of toast cut into two halves, a bit of scrambled eggs, and two pieces of microwave sausage. They dug in and found that the eggs weren’t too bad, and honestly it was hard to mess up microwave sausage.

 

It was then that Bard remembered his coffee and asked Thranduil to pass it to him, which he did. The brunette peered into it and thought it looked normal, so he bravely took a sip, getting a handful of coffee grounds in his mouth in the process.

 

“Augh!” He groaned and spat out the mixture back into the coffee mug.

 

“What?” Thranduil asked amusedly as he tried to bite back a smile, and Bard glared at him.

 

“There’s coffee grounds in it! How the heck did they manage that?” Thranduil could no longer fight back his laughter and he shook the bed with it. Bard shoveled the last of his eggs into his mouth so as to wash out the overly bitter taste and shook his head. It was then that another knock sounded at their bedroom door.

 

“Yes?” Bard answered as Thranduil tried to regain some of his composure, and their children poked their heads around the corner.

 

“Are you done?” Tilda asked in her high voice, and Bard nodded.

 

“Aye. Thank you all, we appreciate this so much.”

 

“You’re welcome, da.” Sigrid smiled and the kids all piled onto the bed around their dads.

 

“One thing I will ask, though, is how you all managed to get coffee grounds into our coffee?” Each of the children immediately turned to glare at Bain, who looked sheepish.

 

“You said you knew how to work it!” Legolas accused, and Bain held up his hands in a guilty-as-charged gesture.

 

“I said I knew how to work it better than any of you guys, which honestly isn’t saying much.” The boy amended, and Bard and Thranduil broke into simultaneous laughs. Needless to say, the first order of the day after they decided it was worth getting up was to teach each of their children how a coffee machine works.


	7. Why Did You Do That?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> High school AU :) Rated G

“Why did you do that?” Bard whined to Thranduil as the pair made their way through Mirkwood High’s crowded halls.

 

“Because,” Thranduil retorted easily, “I know how good you are on stage, and you’re perfect for the part of Gaston.”

 

Bard rolled his eyes as he weaved in and out of the crowd, clinging to Thranduil’s soft hand lest they get separated. The blond, king of the drama club mind you, had gone behind Bard’s back and signed him up for the role of Gaston in the school’s newest production, Beauty and the Beast. Thranduil had gotten the part of the beast, and with all of his power in the club he had managed to land Bard the part of Gaston without him even having to audition. Bard, naturally, wanted nothing to do with his boyfriend’s ‘gift’, as he had called it when the news was announced that morning in homeroom.

 

“Just because I was halfway decent in my church’s play about Noah’s Ark last summer does not mean that I have any acting talent whatsoever.” Bard argued with a groan. “Oh my gosh, I’m gonna make the biggest fool of myself.”

 

Without warning, Thranduil began to pull Bard off to the side of the crowded hallway and out a side door. It opened to a courtyard of sorts, which was empty seeing as everyone was switching classes. Bard was spun by his boyfriend so that they were facing each other and the blond laced their free hands together. “Listen to me.” Thranduil murmured, his voice sounding tenderer than Bard had expected it to. “You’re going to be great. You know how I know? Because A; you’re a natural, and B; you’re not going to be doing this alone. I’ll be with you every step of the way, helping you through it. Okay?”

 

Bard peered up at Thranduil’s beautiful face and pressed his lips lightly to the blond’s. “Yeah.” He murmured huskily when they broke apart. Truth be told, Bard quite liked the idea of getting extra dates with his boyfriend under the guise of practicing for the play. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.


	8. Please Don't Go Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated G

When Thranduil heard the news, he was livid. He would personally kill anyone who dared to lay a finger on the Dragonslayer. Without hesitating he stood from his red and gold embroidered lounge in the tent he was currently staying in and threw open the flap. The Elvenking followed his guards through the darkness of night as they wound between the tents of varying sizes, only stopping once they reached a fairly small tent with throngs of Men milling around it.

 

Without care for shoving people out of his way, Thranduil pushed his way to the entrance of the structure and brushed aside the flap, walking inside. He tried to keep a calm façade, but anyone who knew him well enough would no doubt be able to see the panic in his eyes. The Elf swept his gaze over the room and saw Bard lying on a cot, his own Elven healers surrounding the man. Bard’s children sat on the other side of the room, huddled together with tear tracks staining their faces. They had seen far too much in the battle of the five armies for being so young.

 

Despite wanting so badly to check on Bard, Thranduil knew he would only be in the way. Instead, he strode over to the man’s children. He did not speak as he sat down on the cold floor beside them, though he felt their curious gazes on his tired form. It was unusual for him to tire, but it had been a long few days. He had been through much, and the heaviness that Legolas leaving brought upon his heart made him feel physically exhausted as well as emotionally.

 

Thranduil had only met Bard’s children once. It had been rushed as they were preparing for war, but they had seemed like very intelligent, respectful kids. He felt awkward as he sat beside them; it was a feeling he hadn’t felt in quite some time. Finally the youngest – Tilda – spoke. “Will da be okay?” She asked in a small voice.

 

Thranduil turned to look at her and mulled over what to say. “I don’t know.” He sighed, wishing that he could give them a better answer than that. “I’m sure the healers are doing their best. Do you know what happened to him?”

 

“He was shot with an arrow in the shoulder.” Bain replied solemnly, and Thranduil nodded. They sat like that for what felt like a small eternity, awaiting Bard’s fate. Thranduil did not miss the way the children clung to each other, and it reminded him of days past when Legolas was that small, clinging to his ada as they awaited the fate of his late wife.

 

Finally the healers stepped back from the cot, exhaustion etched onto their faces. Thranduil stood and they each bowed to him, saying “HÎr vuin, te charn. We’ve done all we can; he should recover in time. By your leave, we will return in the morning to check on him.” The Elvenking nodded and dismissed them with a wave of his hand, then reached his other hand down to help the children up off the floor.

 

“Can we see him now?” Tilda asked as she clung to Thranduil’s fingers, and he nodded in assent. All three children all but ran to their da’s side, and Thranduil looked on from behind.

 

The four of them were talking in low voices, though not so low that Thranduil couldn’t hear. He busied himself by fiddling with his rings so that he wouldn’t be eavesdropping, however inadvertent. After a few minutes he thought he heard his name and looked up to see Tilda pointing at him. He took it as an invitation to join the conversation, and made his way over to Bard’s side.

 

The bowman’s shoulder was bandaged in white cloth, only a small spot of blood having soaked through. Bard’s face was pale and sweaty, and he looked exhausted. When he saw Thranduil, the man’s entire face seemed to light up, and the Elf released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Mellon nin.” He greeted, trying in vain to keep his voice sounding composed.

 

“Thranduil.” Bard breathed, and the Elf reached out to grasp the bowman’s cold hand.

 

“How do you feel?” Thranduil asked, even though he knew it was a foolish question.

 

“Like I was shot by an Orc.” Bard deadpanned, but then he coughed and winced.

 

“I think we should all rest.” Thranduil announced, turning towards the children.

 

“They brought us blankets.” Sigrid told, pointing to a pile on the ground near where the four of them were just sitting.

 

“Come on,” Thranduil ordered, moving away from Bard, “I’ll help you set up some pallets.” When they finished and the children had kissed their da goodnight, Thranduil instructed them to lie down, which they complied to. He then blew out the candles around the room and made to sit down in the chair beside Bard’s cot. The man had been so quiet for the past few minutes that Thranduil was surprised to find he was not yet asleep.

 

“Thank you.” Bard murmured, and Thranduil made to grab the man’s hand once again.

 

“Of course. Your children are wonderful.”

 

“Aye.” Bard smiled softly. “I’m lucky to have them.”

 

“As are they to have you.” Thranduil returned, and Bard sighed tiredly. “Go to sleep, mellon nin. You need your rest.”

 

Bard nodded and closed his eyes. Thranduil gazed at their entwined fingers and wondered what this would feel like under different circumstances. What it would be like for Bard’s children to also see _him_ as a father, to get to tuck them in like that every night and come lay beside his husband, keeping each other warm. Thranduil shook his head to clear those thoughts from his mind. It would not, _could not,_ ever happen, and he needed to leave before he tormented himself with fruitless wishes any further.

 

The Elf made to stand, but before he could step away from the cot he felt Bard’s grip firm on his hand and heard a desperate whisper “Please, do not go away. I need you.”

 

Thranduil’s heart clenched at the plea and he sat back down heavily in the chair. “I’m here, meleth.” He murmured, voice thick with emotion as he reached with his free hand to wipe a dark strand of hair out of Bard’s face. “I will always be here.”


	9. Trust is a Fickle Concept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated G

Bard ran hard through the low brush, sweat trailing down his neck and dirt caked on his shoes. His weapon clinked against his trousers as he ran, and adrenaline pumped through his veins. The man could hear someone trailing not far behind him, and he had to fight the urge to turn around and look. Mosquitos buzzed around his ears despite the fast pace he was making and he made to swat them away, unable to endure anymore of the incessant buzzing.

 

As he did, though, his foot caught on an ectopic tree root and he watched as the ground flew closer and closer to his face as if in slow motion. With a grunt he hit the ground and his gun flew out of his hand, landing a couple feet away. Fear flooded through him as he realized he was a goner.

 

Within seconds his pursuer was upon him, and he immediately recognized the long blond hair as belonging to Thranduil. Relief washed over him as he realized he was safe, however the bloodthirsty look in Thranduil’s pale eyes told a different story.

 

“Thran?” Bard questioned in a voice laced with fear. “I trusted you.” This couldn’t be happening, they had promised not to turn against one another…

 

“Trust is a fickle concept.” Thranduil returned, voice commanding and sounding as if he could lead an army with it. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the man raised his paintball gun and shot. Bard watched helplessly as the pink ball careened towards his abdomen, all the while anger at his husband coursed through his veins. When pink paint splattered all over Bard’s middle, Thranduil ran off with a _woop!_ Bard watched him go with a glare.

 

Needless to say, Thranduil slept on the couch that night.


	10. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated T

“That creep almost had you!” Thranduil laughed as Bard held the Playstation controller out in front of his body, a look of fierce concentration on his face.

 

“Well it would be nice if you’d help me out.” Bard retorted, and Thranduil rolled his eyes fondly. His boyfriend took his video games far too seriously in Thranduil’s opinion, though he supposed the same could be said about him and his soap operas. Suddenly the word DEFEAT flashed across the screen in bright red letters, and Bard chucked his controller on the stained carpet of their shared dorm room.

 

“It’s alright, babe,” Thranduil consoled with a hand on his shoulder, “there’s always next time.” Bard simply glared halfheartedly at the blond before breaking out into a grin and shaking his head.

 

“Yeah, yeah, but not with you.” Bard laughed, and Thranduil scoffed in mock offense.

 

“What do you mean? If you’re trying to tell me something, just say it.”

 

“Darling,” Bard said very solemnly, looking Thranduil in the eyes and trying, unsuccessfully, to stifle a grin, “I love you, but you suck at video games.”

 

Thranduil gasped overdramatically and put a hand to his heart. “That’s really hurtful of you to say.” He whined and made to stand up off the floor.

 

“I’m sorry, but it’s true.” Bard lamented. “You are, however, very good at baking, and the leftover cake over there is calling to me.”

 

The brunette’s birthday was the day before, and Thranduil had surprised him by setting up a party in their tiny little dorm room. Bard had never been one for large crowds, and ever since his girlfriend died a few years back from a car crash initiated by a drunk driver, he wasn’t one for alcohol either. So Thranduil had invited over only his boyfriend’s closest friends and they had a nice little night filled with laughs, junk food, cake, and an intense game of monopoly. Now that it was the next night, Thranduil and Bard were free to celebrate on their own.

 

Thranduil made his way to the tiny side table beside the couch, grabbed the last bit of chocolate cake wrapped in plastic wrap that had been placed there the night before, and carried it over to Bard who still sat with a faint smile on the floor.

 

“Thanks.” Bard said as Thranduil handed him the cake, and the blond didn’t hesitate before straddling Bard’s lap as he shoveled a piece of the dessert into his mouth. “I’m not gonna be able to focus on my cake if you sit like that.” Bard complained halfheartedly, though Thranduil suspected that if he tried to move away his boyfriend would stop him.

 

“Hmm that is a pity, isn’t it?” He replied, taking another bite of cake. Bard simply rolled his eyes and they finished their dessert in comfortable silence, neither moving from that position. When they finally finished and set their plates on the floor, Thranduil trailed his hands up under Bard’s shirt, and he smiled when the sensation made the brunette shiver. Thranduil felt his boyfriend’s hands climbing up his own back and he surged forward, pressing their mouths together. Below him Bard moaned, and Thranduil absentmindedly drew patterns across the brunette’s skin, enjoying the way his lips still tasted like chocolate. Yeah, Thranduil liked this present.


	11. Mother's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated G

The sky was a stunningly clear blue, and it was not lost on Thranduil that that had been his wife’s favorite color.

 

The man could recall a time when visiting the cemetery was the most painful thing he did on a daily basis, besides the obvious: carrying on with his life. Yet now as he walked through the sunny afternoon with the comforting warmth of his husband at his side, the pain was minimized. Of course the ache would never go away entirely, but with his family surrounding him, Thranduil felt that visiting his late wife was not only manageable, but something he almost looked forward to, in an odd way.

 

In the past, Legolas had never indulged his father by visiting her grave; he had explained on multiple occasions, very testily mind you, that ‘She’s dead, ada. She can’t hear us. Only an idiot would sit there and talk to a rock with her name on it.’

 

However, as he looked out in front of him, Thranduil could see the bright blond hair of his sixteen year old son swaying back and forth as he walked. He was flanked by their other three children, and all four of them holding a flower they had picked from the garden in their back yard.

 

Mother’s Day was never an easy time for any of the members of the Bowman-Greenleaf household, but they got through it together. Thranduil reached down to grab Bard’s hand and the brunet gave a light squeeze. “Okay?” He questioned, and Thranduil nodded.

 

The plan they had decided on in the car was that they would allow their children to visit their respective mother, then once they had finished the fathers would visit their wives together. Thranduil did not think that he had the strength the visit his wife on his own and he was grateful that Bard was willing to stay with him through the difficult visit.

 

The husbands made their way hand in hand to a bench underneath a rather old oak tree and sat down in the dappled shade while their children made their way to their mothers’ graves. Many a day had Thranduil sat in this exact spot, though this felt vastly different than it once did.

 

The men could see all of their children from where they sat. Off to the right Legolas could be seen crouching down, his hair cascading like a white sheet and blowing softly in the light breeze. Thranduil watched, choked up, as his eldest son placed a sprig of lavender atop his mother’s gravestone – her favorite flower. The change from only a few years ago was a complete one-eighty, and honestly it was more than Thranduil could have ever hoped for.

 

To the right stood their three younger children visiting their mother. Tilda was crouched down and Bain and Sigrid stood side by side, their hands clasped tightly in a comforting gesture that they would no doubt deny if anyone were to point it out.

 

The husbands sat in reflective silence for a few minutes as they waited for their children to finish; the only sounds that of the birds above them and the rustling of the leaves in the warm breeze. When Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda finally turned and began to make their way back towards the bench, Thranduil and Bard stood and walked towards the brunet’s wife’s grave.

 

“You alright?” Bard asked their children as they passed them, and they each nodded. They didn’t appear to have been crying, so that was a good thing.

 

As the pair approached the site where Inara, Bard’s wife, was buried, the brunet’s grip on his husband’s hand tightened. Thranduil squeezed it reassuringly, knowing all too well the feeling that was coursing through the man’s veins.

 

They stopped in front of a gravestone that read **Inara Bowman |1974-2010 | Beloved wife and mother. She touched many lives and will live forever in our hearts.** Thranduil often wondered what would be written on his own gravestone when the time came, though it wasn’t a thought that he particularly enjoyed dwelling on.

 

Bard hesitated only a moment before letting out a shaky “Hello there.” Tears were already welling in his eyes and Thranduil desperately wanted to wrap his arms around his husband and comfort him, but he wanted to allow this moment to be between Bard and Inara without feeling like he was intruding.

 

“Happy Mother’s Day.” Bard continued, emotion thick in his deep voice. “The kids brought you flowers from our garden. You’d be proud of it, though I certainly can’t take any credit. It’s all Thranduil; he has a green thumb. But I guess with a name like Greenleaf you have to be a good gardener. Sorry, I’m rambling.” The man let out a huff that Thranduil guessed was supposed to be laughter, and felt his throat clench with emotion as Bard wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

 

“Sigrid looks so much like you, Nar. I’ll look out of the corner of my eye sometimes and I swear that it’s you. Bain is lanky and long, just like I was when I was thirteen. He’s really great at math, and he seems to be interested in pursuing a career in engineering or something, which is exciting. I’m just glad he got your smarts instead of mine.” He added with a laugh, his eyes now rimmed in red.

 

“Tilda’s a little model, always showing off her outfits. Thank God for Tauriel, or else she’d have nothing fun to wear; Thran and I aren’t exactly the biggest fans of shopping. Legolas is doing well. He’s got himself a boyfriend, Gimli’s his name. He seems nice enough, but Thran isn’t too fond of him. We’ll see where it leads, I suppose.” He paused here for a moment, inhaling deeply and exhaling a shaky breath. “I miss you. Every second of every day, I miss you. And I love you. I know if you were here you’d say ‘I know that, Bard Bowman.’, but I just wanted to tell you again.”

 

By now tears fell freely from Bard’s hazel eyes, and when he turned towards his husband with a forced smile, Thranduil moved to embrace him, planting a kiss atop his head. They stayed like that for a moment before Bard said in a thick voice “Come on, let’s go see Marilla.”

 

Thranduil nodded against Bard’s brown mane and the men reluctantly pulled apart. As they stepped carefully through the cemetery, Thranduil’s heart began to beat faster and faster in anticipation of the wave of emotion that was about to hit. Of course there was no shame in crying, but the pain was not pleasant, no matter how much it had dwindled since he found Bard.

 

All too soon they arrived at Marilla’s grave, and Thranduil couldn’t even bring himself to look at the cold stone where her name was sharply engraved. Instead he looked up at the bright blue sky, remembering all of the times she would excitedly announce that ‘Today’s going to be a good one; the sky is my favorite color.’

 

He took a deep breath, felt the comforting weight of Bard’s hand in his own, and began to speak. “Hey, hun, happy Mother’s Day. The sky is your favorite color today; I thought that was a nice Mom’s Day gift.” He paused and collected his thoughts, feeling them race inside his mind like a confusing tornado. “I’m glad Legolas decided to come see you. It just took him a while to cope, I suppose. He misses you. I miss you. I don’t know if you can see us now or not, but I hope you can. I think you’d be happy.”

 

By now tears were streaking freely down his cheeks, leaving warm tracks in their wake. “I love you so much, meleth nin.” Thranduil told through his tears, using a phrase from Marilla’s first language. “You are forever in my heart.”

 

With that he turned towards his husband only to see their children standing a respectful distance away. Thranduil opened his arms in a gesture that invited them to join them, and before he knew it he was at the center of a six person hug.

 

While the pain of losing his wife was not something he would ever get over, the love from his family certainly made the burden easier to bear. Quite honestly, he couldn’t ask for anything more than the warmth that flooded his heart as they stood linked together as one unit; invincible.


	12. Sorry?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated G

Bard knew his husband had been acting guilty all day long. It was more than obvious in the way the blond brought him breakfast in bed, let him pick the TV channels as they sat curled up on the couch, offered to take Tilda to ballet, did the laundry, and honestly that wasn’t even half of it.

 

Yes, Bard was suspicious, but he thought it wouldn’t do anyone any harm to let Thranduil continue sucking up for just a bit longer before the interrogation began.

 

After the children had been put to bed (which Thranduil offered to do with a completely not-suspicious-at-all nervous smile), the brunet made his way into their bedroom and sat down on their worn quilt like a predator awaiting its prey. He could hear Thranduil’s padding footsteps on the hardwood floor and he couldn’t help but smirk a bit upon seeing the fleeting look of panic that flashed across the blond’s face once he entered the room.

 

“Alright, Thran,” Bard announced, crossing his arms over his chest, “all of this sucking up is really nice, but I think it’s time you tell me what’s going on.”

 

It was comical the way Thranduil opened and closed his mouth like a fish. At least, it would have been if Bard wasn’t growing increasingly worried at what was truly going on. The brunet raised an eyebrow in expectation when his husband didn’t answer, and finally the blond spoke.

 

“First of all, I need you to know that it was an accident and I’m really, _really_ sorry and I love you.” Thranduil told, making Bard _extremely_ curious and _extremely_ worried.

 

“What did you do?” He questioned in the same voice he used when reprimanding their kids.

 

Thranduil visibly winced before letting out a quick string of “IMayHaveDroppedYourCopyOfHarryPotterInTheTub…”

 

“ _What_.” Bard deadpanned, and Thranduil scrunched his eyes shut in a grimace. “That was a _personalized, signed, copy_.” He all but growled.

 

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry, baby, I promise it was an accident…”

 

Bard was entirely ready to banish his husband to the couch for the next week – the words were on the tip of his tongue. Yet something held him back. Honestly, it was only a book. A _personalized… signed… copy,_ yes… but in the end, was the untimely demise of a book really a justifiable reason to fight with his husband?

 

It was certainly not easy, but Bard closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. When he opened his eyes again, Thranduil was still standing before him, a tortured look on his stupid face. “Come here.” The brunet exhaled and opened his crossed arms into a welcoming gesture.

 

A look of utter confusion flashed across Thranduil’s face, as if he expected Bard to turn on him after all. The brunet simply nodded his head a bit in encouragement, however, and the blond made his way warily into his husband’s arms.

 

“You’re not mad?” He questioned confusedly.

 

“Oh, I’m mad.” Bard answered. “But ‘we are only as strong as we are united, weak as we are divided.’”

 

“I don’t think I’ve gotten to that part yet.” Thranduil announced, wrapping his arms cautiously around Bard despite the man’s assurances that he wasn’t going to push him away.

 

“Hmm,” Bard hummed, shifting so that Thranduil sat comfortably on his lap, “I’m not sure you ever will, at least not with my copies.”

 

“Fair enough.” The blond smirked, and Bard leaned forward ever so slightly to kiss those infuriating lips.

 

As great as Harry Potter was, Bard thought that this was just a little bit better.


	13. Love Wins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated G

They sat on their old, patchwork couch that they had had since they’d moved in together all those years ago and stared anxiously at the TV. Their wrinkled hands were entwined and Thranduil’s heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. Bard’s thumb rubbed circles across the back of Thranduil’s palm – a gesture which, over the past forty years, he had learned meant that the man was nervous.

 

When the news reporter’s droning voice was drowned out by the collective hoots and hollers of the crowds on the screen before them, both men leaned forward as if they could get an answer quicker that way. Time seemed to stand still as courtroom witnesses filed onto the steps on screen with arms raised, and the various shouts turned to a steady chant of _“LOVE HAS WON! LOVE HAS WON!”_

Without truly thinking, Thranduil turned and pressed a sloppy kiss to his love’s mouth, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks. When they pulled apart, the look on Bard’s face was priceless. The adoration and utter joy expressed there was a reflection of everything Thranduil was feeling. Coherent thoughts were hard to come by in that moment, and so Thranduil said the first thing he could manage to choke out through his tears: “We can get married.”

 

“I know, Thran. I know.” Bard choked, wiping his tears with the back of his shaking hand. “I can finally ask you this:” he said with a smile, “Thranduil, will you marry me?”

 

The most the man could manage in response was a vigorous nod of his head as his hands covered his mouth. The two embraced, sniffling and letting out little laughs of disbelief.

 

Just when Thranduil thought the day couldn’t possibly get any more perfect, his cell phone rang on the couch beside him. The caller ID read ‘Tilda’, and he pressed accept and immediately put it on speakerphone so Bard could talk as well. Before either of them could even let out a hello, Tilda’s tone of utter excitement met their ears.

 

“Da! Ada! You guys can get married!” She squealed, obviously having been crying.

 

“We know, darling!” Bard replied with the widest grin. “We’re going to go sign the papers as soon as we get out of our pajamas.”

 

“I’m so happy,” Tilda told, voice thick with emotion, “I just can’t believe it.”

 

“Us either.” Thranduil agreed, wiping the last (for now) of his tears with the back of his wrinkled hand.

 

“Well, you guys had better get dressed and sign your papers! I’m sure it will be insanely busy down there.”

 

“Good idea, love. We’ll send you a picture when we’re done, alright?” Thranduil told, and he could almost see their youngest nodding on the other end with a tearful smile on her face.

 

“I can’t wait to see it. I love you guys!”

 

“We love you too, darling!”

 

With that they hung up and rushed to change into day clothes, not without a kiss on the cheek. Throughout the morning they received similar calls from each of their (now grown) children. Even Bain seemed to have been crying.

 

Later, when they finally signed the papers and their marriage was officially official, Thranduil did not think he had ever been happier. After spending forty incredible years with this man, he could finally call him his husband. That word felt so right, and hearing Bard whisper it reverently into his skin that night was one of the most beautiful things he had ever experienced.


	14. Say Yes to the Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated G

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill for the-star-named-andy on Tumblr

Thranduil was well used to criticism and complaints – it was basically his job description. But what he wasn’t well acclimated to was the poorly hidden disdain and disgust that radiated not from the contestant he was designing for, but from her father.

 

The blond had tried nearly every trick up his sleeve, and yet the brunet man still persisted that Sigrid, his daughter, would not be walking down the aisle in _that_. At this point Thranduil was beyond frustrated, and quite honestly, no matter how attractive the man was he wanted nothing more than to smack him across the face. Before that, however, he had one last idea that he hoped would win the stubborn father by the name of Bard over.

 

Sigrid stood in the middle of the room with half of the cameras trained on her while Thranduil stood slightly to her left, pointing out all of the carefully thought out details of his final creation. He paid no attention to Bard while he spoke; he knew that it would only throw him to see the scowl on the man’s face. It wasn’t until he finished speaking and the supervisor called “cut!” that he looked over to see that the brunet was (unsuccessfully) trying to fight back tears.

 

Perhaps his discreet staring wasn’t so discreet after all, because suddenly Bard met his gaze and before Thranduil really processed what was happening, the brunet was gone. Guilt plagued him, though why he did not know. He had done nothing wrong. Yet annoyingly, a nagging thought that he should go check on the man persisted until finally he relented.

 

Thranduil figured he had ten minutes at the most before he would be expected to be back in front of the cameras – enough time to check up on the infuriating man and ask just what was so horrid about his designs as to make him cry.

 

So as Sigrid was whisked away to be changed out of that dress and into something more casual, Thranduil rounded the corner to head backstage where he assumed Bard had gone.

 

Dozens of people milled about back there, adjusting various things. Thranduil had half a mind to ask one of the workers if they had seen him, but presently an unnatural jimmy of a black curtain caught the designer’s attention. Sure enough, as he approached he could easily make out the silhouette of a man hunched over that he had no doubt was Bard. With only a second’s hesitation, Thranduil threw aside the curtain and thrust himself into the brunet’s personal space.

 

“Are my designs honestly that bad?” Thranduil whined, his voice sounding snooty and spoiled. Bard looked up in alarm and hastily wiped the stray tears from his cheeks, looking like he would enjoy nothing more than to sink into the floorboards. When he did not immediately answer, Thranduil tapped his foot impatiently and prodded “Well?”

 

The brunet sitting on a wooden crate seemed at a loss for words, which Thranduil normally found annoying, but on Bard it was almost… endearing. Finally the man spoke. “No, your designs are wonderful.” He told honestly. “It’s just… I wish so badly my wife were here. She always used to talk about how she couldn’t wait to help pick out Sig’s wedding dress and whenever Sigrid was bored they’d make sketches of dresses together and plan imaginary weddings. It’s just hard, you know?”

 

That was one confession Thranduil had _not_ expected. “Yeah, I do know.” Thranduil replied, his voice softer now that he knew the truth. “My wife died ten years ago and I swear with each day it doesn’t get any easier. That’s why I throw myself so hard into my work.” Why he was confessing this to a client, Thranduil did not know. Not that he minded. It felt good to finally talk about his pain with someone who understood fully.

 

“I’m sorry.” Bard said, and the understanding in his eyes made Thranduil’s heart skip a beat. “And I’m sorry for making you think I didn’t like your designs. I guess I just want what I think my wife would have thought was perfect, but really, now that I stop and think about it she would have loved every single one of your dresses.”

 

“I hope that she would.” Thranduil replied, and that was the truth. For some reason Bard’s deceased wife’s approval of his designs meant a lot, even if it was all just speculation on the brunet’s part.

 

“I think I should let Sigrid choose her favorite without my input. Bridget _was_ always teaching the kids to be independent.”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting what you think is best for your child, you know.” Thranduil said and, without even realizing it, reached out his hand to rest on top of Bard’s. The blond didn’t notice his error until he felt the man tense beneath his palm and, suddenly incredibly embarrassed, Thranduil yanked back his hand as if he had been burned and tried to suppress the rising blush on his face.

 

Instead of a look of horror on Bard’s face as the man expected, however, Thranduil watched as a small smirk lighted up his expression.

 

“I know.” Bard told, his entire demeanor now altered. “But Sigrid is more than capable of choosing her own wedding dress. And besides, I wouldn’t want to mess up anymore and make you more likely to turn me down when I ask you to dinner.”

 

Now it was Thranduil’s turn to be confused. “I… Sorry?” He questioned, wondering if he had heard Bard correctly.

 

“I can’t tell if that reaction was good or bad.” Bard laughed, and Thranduil blushed some more. (Honestly, what was wrong with him?)

 

“It’s a good thing.” The blond stated matter-of-factly. “It’s just… unexpected.”

 

“But not unwelcome?” Bard clarified.

 

“Not at all.” Thranduil reassured him.

 

Suddenly Thranduil realized just how close they were and how secluded they were and how Bard had just licked his lips and was staring intently at his own and _oh gosh_ it had been a while since he’d done this. The warmth of the man’s lips on his own was intoxicating and he felt as if he was floating ten feet off the ground. Not once since his wife passed had he made any effort at all to get close to someone in this way, and with the sudden contact he realized just how much he craved it.

 

Before they could really get into it, however, they were rudely interrupted by the set director. “Thranduil, show time is in thirty seconds, where the heck – “ Abruptly the men pulled away from each other, no doubt flushed and looking sheepish. “Oh.” The tall woman deadpanned. “Listen, I don’t care if you canoodle the client off set, but right now you’ve got to get to work.” She snapped, not-so-lightly yanking Thranduil off of Bard’s lap (how had he gotten there?!) by his forearm.

 

That very night Bard treated Thranduil to dinner, and two years later they were happily married. Thranduil’s only complaint was that he couldn’t design anything for their wedding seeing as neither of them planned on wearing a dress to walk down the aisle, though the sight of Bard looking unbearably handsome in his tux certainly made up for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never seen Say Yes to the Dress, in case you couldn't tell. I hope it wasn't too obvious :P


End file.
